


Emotional Dysfunction

by ThunderThighsMish (Voib)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Erectile Dysfunction, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Porn With Plot, Prostate Examinations, Psychologist Castiel (Supernatural), Quarantine Related Boredom, Sexual Dysfunction, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voib/pseuds/ThunderThighsMish
Summary: The receptionist had seemed super friendly when he’d made the appointment, but, now, on the day of the appointment, he felt like he had made a huge mistake. He was going to see a male sex therapist alone. That was thedefinitionof awkward.And what if the guy was old, greying and ugly? Dean would never be able to get hard again.He figured he could sit in the waiting room and if an ugly old guy did come out, he’d say he went to the wrong office and that no, hewasn’tDean Winchester.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 180
Collections: SPN Quarantine Hits





	Emotional Dysfunction

**Author's Note:**

> I am the most bored I have ever been in my entire life. So, y'all are getting some porn from me.

The blonde twink on the screen was getting pounded to oblivion, and Dean was so close, _so close_ , when his erection promptly died like it had for the past few weeks. It had gotten so bad that his coworkers at the shop began to notice his frustration.

Something _really_ had to change or else his balls were gonna fall off. They’d been blue for a week, at _least_ , but now he could tell they were at risk.

He closed the tab on his laptop, cutting off the desperate moans, and started searching for an answer to his problems. He thought that this problem would miraculously solve itself, but he’d been waiting and _waiting_ , and nothing had happened.

He switched up his porn, going towards the extreme, but nothing had worked. He’d even switched his _lube_ , for Christ’s sake.

But _each_ and _every_ time, he got half hard and then rapidly deflated.

On the 3rd page of Google, he found something interesting:

_Castiel Novak, licensed and professional sex therapist._

Intrigued, he clicked, read on, and, finally, made an appointment.

🍑🍆🍑🍆🍑

The receptionist had seemed super friendly when he’d made the appointment, but, now, on the day of the appointment, he felt like he had made a huge mistake. He was going to see a male sex therapist alone. That was the _definition_ of awkward.

And what if the guy was old, greying and ugly? Dean would never be able to get hard again.

He figured he could sit in the waiting room and if an ugly old guy did come out, he’d say he went to the wrong office and that no, he _wasn’t_ Dean Winchester.

The reception area was as expected. Clean, minimalist, and simplistic: Dean felt comfortable there. The receptionist was as nice as she sounded on the phone, a bubbly redhead named Charlie who made him less anxious.

He waited for 15 minutes, watched an older couple leave before he was called to the back by a… surprisingly sexy man.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester, I’m Dr. Novak and I’ll be the one treating you for the next hour.”

Holy _fucking_ shit. He was the doctor? Not just the person who guided you to the right room?

Dean was going to pass out. He was gaping like a fish in his confusion, but he forced his jaw shut and responded. “N—Nice to meet you, doctor.”

Dr. Novak put a hand on his lower back to guide him into the correct room, a sterile examination office with the paper-covered place for him to sit. He sat on the bench and tried not to get on his knees for this incredibly sexy man. Forget Dr. Sexy—Novak was _much_ better.

“Today will be much like an introduction. I am a qualified psychologist, but I also have a background in reproductive biology and anatomy, so I will be both assessing your biological health as well as mental well-being. Some of my patients need time to get comfortable and so, depending on your demeanor, we may move onto the examination or we might continue our conversation.”

Dean bit his lip in contemplation, feeling both uneasy and willing to move on. He couldn’t think of anything to ask Dr. Novak, and he felt _more_ than comfortable with the guy (with wanting to bend over for him and all). _If only it was socially acceptable to say it out loud…_

“I’m ok with moving on, if you’re ready to,” Dean replied instead.

“Then I’m going to ask you to change into this gown and we’ll begin shortly with a vitals checkup and then a questionnaire.”

Dean was handed a plain hospital-style gown before Dr. Novak slipped out of the room quietly.

Getting undressed, Dean couldn’t help but glare at his limp member, angry about how the damned thing had gotten him into this whole ordeal, and even if the doctor was hot, it still hurt his pride.

Dr. Novak reentered after knocking politely, pulling his stethoscope off from around his neck and checking on Dean’s heart rate before moving onto his blood pressure.

Dean zoned out for a while, realizing just how un-sexy it was when doctors did _actual_ doctor work. So lame. Where was the sexual roleplay? The misuse of medical tools? The prostate exams?

“We’ll now begin our examination of your prostate.”

Oh. _There_ it was.

“The prostate is an organ that helps protect the sperm with a fluid. By making sure it’s working properly, I can get an idea for physical health before we begin working on your issues. I will go slow, use only one or two fingers, and then we’ll be all done.” Dr. Novak smiled in a friendly way (probably used to calming down his holier-than-thou patients who’d normally object).

Dean tried to suppress a smirk, turning away from Dr. Novak to hide it. Hearing the snapping of gloves and the slick sounds of lube, his cock gave a valiant twitch, trying to harden.

Rhonda Hurley had been the kinky one who’d gotten him into fingering himself. A devout pioneer, she’d conquered his fear of anal. Dean still thanked her every time he jacked off.

Novak was professional and gave him a warning before he began to penetrate Dean with a finger, moving so slowly that Dean could barely feel anything. He desperately wanted to push back, driving Novak’s finger deeper to fuck himself on the digit, but it wasn’t in the cards. The doctor was _so_ professional that it was weird he didn’t have a reaction. He was probably a weird straight guy who liked to finger other dudes. That existed, right?

Dean sighed.

“Are you doing alright? Any pain or discomfort?” Novak asked.

“Nope,” _just a desperate need to get pounded six ways to Sunday by one Doctor Novak._

“I’m going to add another finger now and then I’ll begin to search for your prostate.”

Dean hummed in acceptance before it turned into a grunt of pleasure at the stretch of two fingers. Oh fuck, it felt good having someone other than himself inside of him.

And then Novak started to massage around his prostate, eliciting a quiet moan from Dean. Even if he hadn’t actually _touched_ the prostate, Dean was too horny to hold back the quiet noises he was making.

Novak stilled, in seeming contemplation, before he began moving his fingers again, applying pressure right where Dean wanted it.

As if by a magic touch, Dean’s cock was hard and tenting the thin gown’s fabric, leaving a little wet patch where the head was.

But Novak kept going, palpating the consistency (or something) of his prostate. He didn’t stop for a second, building up the pressure and movement, as if he wanted Dean to come all over the gown.

Wait a second—maybe he _did_.

Dean was too close to stop anyways. He was panting and letting out light moans, involuntarily arching his back so Doctor Novak had better access. His endorphins started to rush, pleasure coalescing, cock twitching, and he felt himself begin to come.

There was a puddle of come on the inside of his gown, slowly beginning to soak into the fabric, and Dean was riding out the aftershocks in a state of anxiety. Novak still had his fingers in him, but he’d stilled now, and Dean was clenching around the man, and _oh_ _God_. This was the most awkward, terrible day of his life.

(It did feel nice, though.)

“Was I…not supposed to do that?” Dean said awkwardly to the quiet room.

Slick fingers slid out and Dean’s oversensitive cock gave another twitch before he could hear Novak removing the gloves and disposing of them.

“No, no. You did well, Mr. Winchester. I was testing the health and sensitivity of the prostate, and yours is plenty reactive, so there’s no problem there.”

Dean stood up, embarrassed at the big wet stain in his gown, and tried to tie the back of it up again. “Oh,” he replied dumbly.

“I’ll give you some time before we continue onto the examination of your penis. I can provide another gown, if you’d like, but we won’t be needing it for a while.”

“I’m good.”

“In the meanwhile, let’s take that questionnaire.” Novak grabbed a clipboard and a pen and flipped the pages open. “How many sexual partners have you had, Mr. Winchester?”

_There was Cassie, and Aaron, and Lisa, and that one time with Benny, and Rhonda, that threesome when I was drunk…_ “10, probably.”

“Have you ever been tested for an STI?”

“Yeah, like 3 weeks ago.”

Novak scribbled something. “Were those positive or negative results?”

“Uh, negative.”

“If you could send those results to me, that would be greatly appreciated. How many people have you dated?”

Dean shifted, uncomfortable with the personal question. “3, maybe?”

“And did you have difficulty leaving those relationships?”

“Not really.” Cassie was a young tryst into love, Lisa and he had both grown apart, and Aaron was just for fun.

“Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental health issue?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you currently take any medications?”

“Nothing but vitamins,” he replied.

“How often do you drink?”

“Well… I’m a mechanic, so I don’t day-drink or anything, but I usually go out for a drink with my buddies every now and then.”

“How much do you consume on a typical night?”

“A couple beers.”

Novak wrote something down. “Are you lonely, Mr. Winchester?”

And, woah. Dean felt a little blindsided by that question, but he answered truthfully. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you have family or friends that you talk to consistently enough that they share your emotional burdens?”

“I—My brother Sammy is a lawyer and he lives close by, but I’ve kinda neglected to talk to him for a few weeks. And I don’t have many friends that keep in touch, emotionally at least.”

Novak wasn’t even looking at the questions on the paper anymore. “Do you struggle with intimacy?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

Novak wrote it down and shuffled the papers back into order. “Let’s move to my office. I’ll let you get dressed and then I’ll meet you in the office straight down the hall.”

He left and Dean felt like there was lead in his gut as he pulled his shirt back on over his head. What a way to kill a post-orgasmic mood.

Dr. Novak’s office was clean and cozy, with little knickknacks scattered everywhere, and neutral colors. The doctor beckoned him in and had him sit in a big chair with a fuzzy blanket draped over it. Novak sat behind a desk, a notebook in his hand with a pen ready. He had taken off his jacket and had revealed a pressed, white shirt and crisp, black slacks.

“I’ve chosen to postpone the physical examination until a later date because I believe we have other things to work on that will benefit you more than an exam of your penis.”

Dean huffed a laugh at the deadpan way Novak said _‘penis’_.

“This room is a safe space. You are my client and I’m your practitioner. Anything you say, unless it will result in harm of yourself or other individuals, is confidential. I want you to be comfortable, Mr. Winchester,” he said in a way that made it seem like he really, truly meant every word he said.

“You said you struggle with intimacy,” he continued. “Tell me about that.”

Dean had been to shrinks in the past, when the state said he had to be evaluated after his mom died, but he’d never actually spread out 32 years of _shit_ to anyone. But he did with Novak. _Go figure…_

And Novak kept redirecting his thoughts so he didn’t spiral, encouraged him to continue with gentle smiles and easy reassurance.

And Dean really did feel better after he talked to the man who made him come with two fingers. It probably had something to do with hormones or endorphins, psychology shit, but Dean found that he really liked the guy. He didn’t have a stick up his ass, didn’t speak in jargon to sound smart, and was weirdly relatable. He actually gave Dean snippets of his own life experiences that he never expected to hear.

40 minutes of talking later and Dean didn’t want to leave. He was relaxed but interested, loose but engaged. He finally got to talk to someone about his true feelings without receiving judgement back.

It was enlightening.

The best part was when Dr. Novak gave him a _hug_ before he left. The warmth of another person’s body, in such a simple action, had his heart beating much too fast.

Novak gave him a card, in case he “ever needed to talk,” and told him to try and reconnect with an old friend before their next appointment.

Dean swore that he would try, and he actually meant it instead of lying to make someone else feel better.

And if, after a few sessions, he stopped being a client and upgraded to being a _boyfriend_ , then no one had to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Now wash ya damn hands.


End file.
